Hiya everybody! So, it's not long until I have to start work again. I'm starting at my new school in two days (AHHH!) but worry not about the updates! I'm planning to stick to a sort-of schedule on this fic. I'll be updating every fortnight at the longest, sometimes a little bit less, like today! I just really wanted to get this chapter out!
I'm also in the midst of writing that side-fic for this story, which looks at the backstory of different characters and different POVs (mainly Papyrus so far but a bit of Sans as well.) I may post that somewhat soon so be on the lookout if you're interested :)
Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and… sorry in advance.
Warnings at the end to avoid spoilers.
Papyrus coming home with you isn't a one-time thing. It's not even a two-time thing. He walks you back to your flat almost every night after that, listening intently as you tell him about your days and guide him past the many potholes in the dark paths.
You find you start keeping more monster food in your fridge and have added another carton of sea tea to your cart each time you shop. He seems to like the drink somewhat... although he likes everything when you get down to it. He isn't fussy about food at all. You realise the true extent of this one night when you tell him to help himself to whatever is in the cupboard while you go reapply the adhesive to your nails and clean your bridge, and you come back five minutes later to find him eating uncooked ravioli straight out of a can with every sign of enjoyment. After that you always make sure to offer him options on what to eat.
He doesn't stay the night again, generally just staying an hour or so before slouching off at some point when you're not looking. However, what little time you do spend with him you find is strangely fun and comfortable. As you had worked out pretty much from the start, he's not one for forced conversation. If he needs to say something he'll say it; otherwise he's happy just to read one of your books or watch a show on your laptop. You have to be the one to initiate this though, because if you don't then he just sits there and quietly watches you cooking dinner or painting.
After the first week or so of this, you find he is talking a bit more. At first, it's just simple questions about what sort of things you like and like to do, similar to his previous attempts at conversation. Then it's about co-workers you have only ever mentioned in passing, and whether your boss has got off your back about the triple shifts yet. He remembers things that surprise you, like that you're good at the maths sections on TV quizzes or the fact that you like watching comedies but cannot stand dramas and soap operas. He asks you why on that last one and you tell him some lie about over the top problems or unbelievable situations. You can actually see him storing the information away in his head as he considers this.
Eventually he starts showing more about himself as well. Again, not much at first, but enough for you to fill in the gaps and enough to make you wish for more. You know that he doesn't like filth much (apart from what is already on him, which he is strangely apathetic about), he knows something about art and he's very caring in his own quiet way. He never says or shows any of those things upfront, but you can tell when his mouth turns down as he sits on certain seats of the bus, when he avoids meeting your eyes at times when he's struggling to think of something to talk about, or when he says:
"You should clean your jeans. That seat had teeth marks in it... someone chewed it..."
"What type of oil binder d'you use for that paint? Linseed oil s'posed to turn yellow after a few years."
"You not got any other way for getting home from here? P'raps a bike or something."
"You gonna get that sofa fixed?" and "You should get to bed, don't sleep here."
One night though, he does tell you something upfront.
"I got a brother; his name's Sans."
You pause in stirring the lamb stew on the hob, turning around in surprise as Papyrus slouches in the doorway with a soft frown on his face.
"Oh?" You reply. "What's he like?"
Papyrus is quiet for a moment, seemingly contemplating his answer as he turns his head up to stare at the patch of damp on the ceiling.
"Not like me," he finally says before frowning again, still looking up at the ceiling. "He wants to meet you."
"Okay," you say and turn back to the stew.
This obviously wasn't the reaction Papyrus wasn't expecting as his gaze snaps down to meet yours.
"...I thought you'd find it weird."
"How so?"
He didn't seem to have an answer for that, he just watches as you hum to yourself and add a sprig of mint to the stew.
You suppose it could be considered weird. You and Papyrus, well it's hard to know if you can even call him your friend yet, even if you've taken to doing it in your head. You definitely haven't brought it up, worried about scaring him off... So why does his brother want to meet you?
"Little brother or big?" You ask, dishing up the stew.
"Both."
You furrow your brow at that and think. "So, he's younger and tall for his age or older and short?"
"Don't call him short when you meet him," Papyrus tells you as he picks up the bread and cutlery.
You both get the bus together on Saturday afternoon. It takes another twenty minutes from yours to get to the right stop. You wonder how long it takes on foot and make a mental note to put more effort into persuading Papyrus to stay the night in the future. You know there aren't any more buses after yours and you don't like the idea of him walking back alone in the dark.
"How long have you lived with Sans then?" You ask, as you both get off the bus, thanking one of the nicer bus drivers who took you here today.
"I've always lived with him," he murmurs quietly. You look up at him, catching a hint of worry in his voice. The words sink in along with his closed off expression and a faint suspicion in your mind. You eye up his tense frame, the forced, calm look on his face and the splintered cracks running down from his golden teeth.
Eyes forward, you tell yourself. It's fine, you reason as you force your hands to still and your feet to walk along the smooth and uncracked pavement. The thoughts don't go away though. They won't. Neither will the vague sickly, writhing feeling growing in the pit of your belly.
As you both walk towards a rather nice and upmarket flat complex, you find you're not feeling very good about this whole 'meeting the family' thing. This somehow feels like a mistake. You chew on the sides of your mouth, scratch at your wrists, wring your fingers and generally feel as if something is clawing at your insides. Papyrus doesn't seem to notice, he's too busy looking for his lobby keys and opening the door. Your every step is lagging now as you creep after him and internally chide yourself for acting this way. It's just his brother for Christ sake. Why are you being like this? Your eyes drift again to Papyrus's tense expression but you shake your head again, just focus!
Papyrus's flat seems to be on the top floor but the elevator makes quick work of the distance. It's only when you both step out into the lobby that Papyrus somewhat notices the state you've worked yourself into.
"He'll like you," he says abruptly, almost blurting out the words in his rush to say them and to assure you. You notice this and smile up at him, eyes soft. He smiles back, eyes softer.
"YOU'RE LATE!"
You both jump, eyes snapping forward then downwards as a small skeleton glowers up at you. You blink several times in surprise at his appearance. Papyrus certainly wasn't kidding before about them being different. Where Papyrus is tall and lanky, Sans is short and stocky. He isn't overweight exactly but he somewhat resembles a barrel, a spikey, red and black barrel. Papyrus's brother is also very different in the face. Obviously both of them are skeleton monsters but Sans seems to have a less skeletal appearance with rounded cheeks, dagger like teeth, and red and blue ringed eyelights staring straight out at you from the shadowed caverns of his eye-sockets.
He seems to be giving you a once over too. By the look on his face, he's not overly impressed.
"...Why'd you have to get such a lanky human companion? Misery loves company huh?" He snarks out before turning on his heal, back into the flat.
You exchange a quick look with Papyrus, he lets out a strangely relieved sigh and smiles awkwardly at you again.
Why is he smiling? You wonder.
You follow Papyrus into the flat, looking around and taking in the neat surroundings, the wall full of weaponry and the occasional oil painti- wait, what?
You look back at the wall and your mouth falls open as you take it in. There is a morning star glinting softly in the cool light. There are several katanas above that, in order of size, from three feet long to over a metre. Then there are shortswords, longswords, polearms with axe like blades, blunt staves, throwing knives and several javelins. All of their handles show signs of wear...
You swallow dryly and turn away from the macabre display, entirely unsure of how to react to this, only to stop short as Sans stares up at you a mere foot away.
"Dinner is ready," is all he says, turning to go back to the kitchen only when you give a small nod of acknowledgement to his words.
Papyrus is slouching through the living room, not even looking at the wall like it is an entirely normal feature to have. You suppose it must be for him. Your eyes flicker back to the wall, then to the white line of weapons crowning the top of it, almost shaped like... bones? You force yourself to look away and keep going. This isn't what you expected but you can deal with it.
You find them both sat down when you enter the dining room, Papyrus is frowning slightly and Sans seems to look bored, blue and red eyes flickering from the ceiling of the room over to you with startling intensity. You meet his gaze and take a seat. The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly at this and you feel a small measure of the nerves inside you fade.
"Serve this out," he sharply barks at Papyrus, making the faint smile that was about to grace your face, melt away. You look around at Papyrus, he doesn't seem that bothered by Sans's tone and grabs your plate. You take a calming breath and force your hands to unclench.
"Thank you," you say to him. Papyrus nods faintly at you and you look back at Sans who is inspecting the back of his gloves. There's a long silence while Papyrus starts clattering with the plates and Sans ignores you. You decide to break it.
"So what do you do Sans? Do you work?"
He blinks, taking in your questions, then frowns. "Of course I work. I'm a lawyer at Northwood."
It's your turn to blink. "Really? I've heard of them, they've got a really good reputation. That's amazing."
There's a coughing sound behind you and you look up to see Papyrus covering his mouth, staring at his brother. You miss the smug smile that covers Sans's face for a moment and when you look back he's simply smirking at you.
"Yes, it is. It's suited to me perfectly. Almost as perfect as being captain of the Royal guard. I have to, of course, apply many of my multiple skills from my previous profession to this one but they transfer well. Such as my extensive knowledge of weaponry, which was very useful with my first homicide case where I-"
Sans starts to weave his tale as Papyrus sits back down next to you, idly picking at his food. You feel his hand softly weaving into yours under the table, offering you small comfort as you briefly smile at him and turn back to listen to Sans, still holding onto your friend's hand, unconsciously running the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.
"You're not eating enough," Sans tells you, interrupting his own story to suddenly frown at you. You jolt and drop Papyrus's hand like a hot coal, picking up your knife and fork to eat the, uh, tacos. Why did they give you cutlery for this?
You mentally shrug and copy Sans's eating style, using the knife to break off a shard of the taco and scrape both it and the mince onto your fork.
It's nice. It's really nice. Slightly too spicy for you but you're not going to complain. You nod slightly as you eat it and you think Sans is satisfied by this. His almost-smile soon becomes distant though.
"Papyrus tells me you work in an office," he says, nonchalantly picking at his food.
You frown softly and swallow, you guess this could be considered true. "I suppose I do, I work with maintenance and cleaning though."
His not-quite-a-smile is gone now as he considers you. "That doesn't earn much. I suppose it's not like you can do better though with your record."
"Sans," murmurs Papyrus in a low tone.
You barely hear him; you're fixated on watching as Sans smiles anew. It's the largest smile you've seen on him all evening.
"Battery huh?" He asks sweetly, both his eye lights flickering into a deep shade of red.
"Sans," says Papyrus, a little louder now.
"...It's not like that," you find yourself murmuring through numb lips, knife and fork clenched tightly in your hands.
"Liar."
Liar!
Everything seems a little too bright, a little too close. The cutlery clatters out of your hands onto the table. You want to shake your head of it but find you cannot move as air starts coming out in short and sharp bursts from your gently parted lips.
"Sans!"
Sans looks away from you, then to Papyrus with a belligerent frown. You don't see it though; you're having a hard time focusing on his face.
"No! Don't you see? He was acting before. Look at his face now, I was right. He was acting, lying. Why else would he help you? He wants something from you."
"That's... not... true..." you distantly hear yourself slur out. You are the only one to hear it though as Papyrus stands up to face Sans, not looking your way once as he tries to get Sans to calm down.
"No! Why do I have to be the one who's always looking out for you Paps?! You don't know a thing about this person and what they've done. He's an abuser! It's on his record!"
Papyrus just gives you a blank look that you barely register then turns back to his brother, saying nothing. This only seemed to make Sans angrier.
"Here I am protecting you again, Papyrus! Why do I have to do this? You never think about things like this, you idiot!"
Your throat feels burning hot and your lungs feel as if they are full of boiling water as you struggle to pull in breath after breath, hands tingling as they clench over the edge of your chair.
"Sans, calm down please."
There's a scraping slam of a chair being thrown back and Sans is stomping towards Papyrus, fists clenched and teeth set in a snarl, and you- you-
You don't register moving. All you know is that you're standing up between the two of them, arms outstretched as if to act as a shield. Your breathing is coming out hard and fast and you can feel cold sweat running down your face, mixing with the water beading down from your eyes. Sans no longer looks angry. His heated glare has fallen slack. His eyes are no longer filled with red, nor narrowed in distaste. All there is on his face is blank, wide eyed shock as you stand there, form unmoving, eyes unfocused but intent on his.
Someone's saying your name. You blink and come back to yourself, furiously rubbing the salty water from your face before looking back at Papyrus. His eyes are wide and brow deeply furrowed in confusion and some unnamed emotion which you cannot read. He doesn't look happy. You blink again, looking back at Sans who is just standing there, doing nothing, suddenly much smaller to you than he was a few moments ago.
"Excuse me," you murmur, walking away and out of the door, trying to keep your steps steady as you leave the flat.
You wait outside the door until Papyrus comes out. It takes a while. It gives you a chance to try to calm yourself down, throwing your head back against the cool, brick walls.
When he comes out, he's not happy. You can tell by the way he doesn't look at you right away, instead silently slouching against the wall across from you and looking down at his feet. You want to tread carefully but it's hard when your hands are still shaking and you feel like you've swallowed glass.
"What was that?" He finally says, waiting for you as you open, and close then open your mouth again and say what you feel must be said.
"…You have a nice flat but you don't want to go back to it." You tell him, looking him in the eye with an almost desperate, pleading expression. "You have enough money but you don't have enough food. You're often tired, like you haven't been able to sleep. And the cracks in your face? Your teeth that were ripped out?"
Papyrus's brow is rising and his mouth is falling slack as you move forward to take his hands in yours. "You don't have to live like that. You don't deserve to."
"...That's why you reacted like that?" He pulls his hands from yours and steps away. "You think Sans has-?!" He stops, not even being able to say those words as he looks at you like- like... You don't say anything as the expression on his face sinks in. He's looking at you like he doesn't know you, like you are someone new and horrible standing in the place of his friend.
You were wrong. Oh God, you were wrong. He's not like you at all. You are backing away slightly but he doesn't notice. He's too angry.
Oh god.
"Saying all those things like you know me? Like you know him? You have no clue!" He spits out, taking another step away from you as if he can't even stand to be near you. "People are always talking like that about Sans, judging him, getting him wrong, but I thought you'd be different."
You don't say anything.
"You have a messed up mind."
You can't say anything.
"... Just- just get out of here. Just go."
You go. You can't do anything else.
Warnings:
References to past abuse
Panic attacks
Reader being triggered
